


One More Pint

by Nepthys



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-11
Updated: 2008-07-11
Packaged: 2017-10-06 00:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nepthys/pseuds/Nepthys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little bit of angst...</p>
            </blockquote>





	One More Pint

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the  [](http://community.livejournal.com/1973flashfic/profile)[**1973flashfic**](http://community.livejournal.com/1973flashfic/)  **_fear_** challenge.  
>  

Gene Hunt is bloody angry.   
   
He knocks back another pint at the pub because the team are there and they're all celebrating the capture of the Bennett brothers, but Gene's still bloody angry about the fact that one of them had managed to pull a gun.   
   
Phil Bennett. He'd caught them by surprise. Shots fired. And for one horrible moment Gene thought—  
   
Well, no-one was hurt (except Phil Bennett, but he deserved a few punches and a kick to the ribs once Gene had got the gun off him, and Sam had pulled him away before he'd done him any permanent damage – mores the pity).  
   
Gene reaches for his next pint with an unsteady hand. The others are talking and laughing, gathered around the darts board, but he's leaning on the bar, silent, still fuming. He had known something was off; should have thought to search them both first, but he had been in a hurry to bring them in.   
   
Too much of a hurry.   
   
Too sloppy, this time.   
   
He's always thought that's the way he'd finally want to go when his time came: out in a blaze of glory like Butch and Sundance. And if it was just him, then that would be fine; better than ending his days sitting at home drinking away his pension.   
   
But not one of his team. Not while he's in charge.   
   
Gene clenches his hand around his glass, his knuckles whitening. He hears Chris laughing loudly at one of Ray's jokes and feels sick. He knows that's the anger, there, coiling in his gut.  
   
Anger that anyone would dare to point a gun—  
   
Not at _him_; he couldn't give a fig about that. He swallows a mouthful of beer, hoping to get rid of the nausea he can feel building. He's out in a cold sweat: that must be the anger, too.  
   
No. Phil Bennett hadn't been pointing the gun at him.   
   
The bastard had pointed it at Sam.  
   
And as though thinking his name summons him, Sam steps up beside him and Gene feels a companionable hand on his shoulder, the warmth of it sinking into his skin through the thin material of his shirt. 

But after a moment Gene pulls away and turns back to his drink because he's still bloody angry and he doesn't want to take it out on Sam, not tonight; doesn't want it to end in flying fists and harsh words, and its better if Sam leaves him alone for a while because he doesn't trust himself (because he's still bleeding _furious_, you see), not to wrap his arms around him, tightly, and hold him close.  
   
That's the anger, too.

 

   
END


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